No right to bitch

My life is truly wonderful. I have the all-American sorta fairytale lifestyle that most women dream of. My husband adores me and helps a lot with Perrin. My son is a doll who only occasionally makes me want to rip my hair out. I live in this beautiful place where I feel serene. Yet I sometimes mope about mainly trivial things as though the world may collapse around my shoulders at any moment. As if the fact that I twitch a lot gives me any free passes to throw myself pity parties. And here's why I don't have any right to bitch. Recently, my little boy fell madly in love with a darling girl at the playground. They hug and hold hands while they frolic through the daisies. I adore her. Her grandma brings her almost every day b/c the kids like each other so much. So one day I ask the grandma if the girl's mom works. She tells me that she has cancer and doesn't have the energy to play with her daughter anymore. How dreadful. Just dreadful. To be in your twenties, have this sprite of a child and be battling a disease that is very likely going to keep her on the sidelines for years. Then I met the mom. She came by the other day b/c her daughter had talked about Perrin so much that she wanted to meet us. She's frightfully thin and pale. She's bald from chemo, but she has the biggest smile I've ever seen. She has an unshakable faith in spite of the cruel hand the universe has dealt her. While I agonize over the possibility that my son may have Tourette's or any of the other oddities that we may have given him, this woman goes to bed every night praying that she'll get to see her daughter grow up. Life is all about perspective, and mine definitely needed changing.